


Post-Traumatic

by LuthienLuinwe



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Batman: Arkham (Video Games), Nightwing (Comics)
Genre: F/M, Hallucinations, Mental Breakdown, Mental Instability, Nightmares, Past Rape/Non-con, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Suicidal Thoughts, Torture, fear toxin
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-23
Updated: 2018-08-02
Packaged: 2019-04-27 00:59:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 13
Words: 18,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14414235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LuthienLuinwe/pseuds/LuthienLuinwe
Summary: Batman has uncovered the identity of the Arkham Knight and been reunited with Jason Todd. Determined to get the man back on track, Bruce heads back to the Manor. However, when things go south after Nightwing is exposed to Scarecrow's fear toxin, things quickly go from tense to horrific.Re-write of FF.Net story





	1. Reunion

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone! This is a rewrite of a story I have posted on FF.Net (my first Batman fic). I hope you all enjoy it.

**Jason**

He had lost. He had worked so hard for so long, imagined over and over again what it would be like when he finally ended Bruce Wayne, imagined the man begging, screaming for mercy, and Jason, out of what little kindness remained in his heart, would finally put him out of his misery. The plan had been working so beautifully. He had convinced himself that everything would work out fine, that by the end of the night, Batman would be no more.

And he had failed.

Worse, he had failed himself. Because he had promised himself that he was never, ever going to let someone let him feel as weak and powerless and hopeless as the Joker had made him feel. He was going to get revenge on Bruce for giving up, and worse, for replacing him.  
How many of his friends and family had to die before he would get the damn message?

He lay in a crumpled heap on the floor, trying to keep what little of his sanity remained in tact. Bubbles of hysterical laughter, laughter that reminded him of him threatened to come up, threatened to mark him as a madman no better than the maddest of them all. 

He barely registered Bruce speaking with Alfred via com-link “Alfred it’s… I’ve found Jason.” Alfred. He had to stop himself from laughing dryly. How long had it been until Alfred, always looking out for Bruce first, convinced Bruce to stop looking? Did it take him a day or an hour to get rid of all of Jason's things in the manor? 

“Excuse me, sir? I must have misheard you. For a moment it sounded as though you’d said you’d found Master Todd.”

And Jason? Jason had been stupid enough to believe that he cared. That they all cared. The only good thing he could say about him was that he had never lied, not even once. Bruce had stopped looking. Bruce had replaced him with a shinier, newer model. And Alfred was no better than they were. He had stood by and let it happen.

“You heard right.”

If it had been Dick… God if it had been Dick, things would have turned out so very differently. Bruce would have torn the city apart looking for his golden boy. Jason was just a pathetic charity case who got in over his head. He was stupid for thinking Bruce would come in the first place.

Yet here they were, Bruce still trying to play the hero, trying to act like the caring father-figure he presented to the world. Jason had to force down the laugh that threatened to appear that time. Bruce Wayne, father of the year? If only Gotham really knew.

"My God," he heard Alfred breathe. "Is he all right?"

"No," Bruce responded simply. "He's not."

He thought about running, running and not stopping until his body forced him to. But he knew he wouldn’t get very far. He was unhinged, even if he didn’t want to admit it to himself. He wouldn’t make it out of the building before Bruce caught him again.

Jason glared at the masked man standing only a few feet away from him. What right did he have to determine Jason's mental stability, his condition? He hadn't cared that year the Joker had him. Why did any of it matter now? He knew what was going to happen, even before Bruce moved closer to him. 

He wanted to struggle when Bruce grabbed him, but he needed to save his strength, needed time to think. He was weak, and he knew he stood no chance against the older man, the man who had trained him. It was over. He knew that. But that didn't mean he wasn't going to make the Bat drag him to his stupid little Batmobile.  
He winced when Bruce forced his arms behind his back, binding them. Add some barbed wire to the ropes and it would be just like old times with his good pal the clown prince. He wasn’t sure if the binds were to keep Bruce safe from him, or to keep him safe from himself.

And wouldn't that have been a perfect ending? Jason Todd, risen from the alleged grave, bringing some resemblance of hope to his once mentor turned enemy, only to send that hope crashing down with a well-placed bullet through his own head? But Brue had taken his weapons. Of course he had. "I hate you," he spat as Bruce pushed him into the car.

"I know," Bruce sighed, and Jason smirked recognizing the lack of attempt to disguise his own voice. But what point was there anymore? His identity as the feared Arkham Knight had been compromised. He knew who Batman truly was. There was no need for further tricks and deceptions, no need at all.  
Jason leaned his head against the glass, staring out at the streets of Gotham, doubting he would see them again. The judicial system frowned upon individuals forming a milita and declaring war on a city. But he had brought Gotham to her knees, if only for a moment. No one, not even the fearsome Batman could ever take that away from him.

Even if the roads leading to Blackgate weren't pretty, he was determined to remember them, to remember the city lights reflecting off the dark pavement, remember the glitter of the rain against the stars. Only… "This isn't the way to Blackgate," he frowned and turned to face the man he hated most in the world.

"We aren't going to Blackgate," Bruce responded, and Jason held a small sense of satisfaction in knowing the man couldn't even look at him.

"Then where the hell are we going?" he demanded.

"I'm taking you home," Bruce answered, and if Jason hadn't known better, he would have sworn he heard a hint of resignation in the Bat’s tone.

Still, he could think of no place he would rather be less than at Wayne Manor. Well, no place other than the rooms in that abandoned wing of Arkham Asylum.

No, he wouldn't let his mind wander back there. Never again. It was over, finally over, though it all could have ended so much earlier, so much smoother, if Bruce had done his job and found him in the first place.

"I'd rather go to Blackgate."

* * *

**Dick**

"Nightwing, report in," Dick had to keep himself from groaning when he heard Batman's voice through his comms. Couldn't the man let him fight crime for one night without checking on him? Couldn't he let things go back to the way they had been before Jason had disappeared? For God's sake, he wasn't the Boy Wonder anymore. He could take care of himself. He’d been taking care of himself for years.

"Right here, Batman," he replied, trying to keep the annoyance out of his tone, trying to have at least a little bit of empathy for his mentor. He knew Bruce meant well, that he didn't want Dick or Tim disappearing on him like Jason had, that he didn't want another unmarked video containing another protégé being shot by some lunatic. Because things had never been the same after that. Still, he could have gone without the location trackers and vital sign monitors. He didn’t doubt Bruce would put them in Dick’s civilian clothing too if Dick wouldn’t cause too much of a stir about it.

He scanned the area from his vantage point, glad that, at least for the time being, that sector was clear. The last thing he needed was to get into a scuffle while Bruce was on the line, giving Bruce another reason to worry, or worse, doubt him. Because ever since Jason had gone missing, Bruce had been doubting everything he did, good or bad. And no matter how well he performed, there was always something to critique, something he could have done better, something he had overlooked that could have gotten him killed.

And he absolutely hated the next words that he heard. "I need you back at the manor."

"Are you kidding me?" Dick demanded, this time unable to hide his annoyance. "Look, Batman, I know you're worried, but I've dealt with worse than Scarecrow and some militant goons bent on killing you…"

"Dick," Bruce tried to cut him off, but Dick was not going to let him, not that night, not anymore.

"Look, I'm not Jason, okay?" he snapped, the temper Bruce had always warned him about getting the better of him. "I know how to not get myself killed." He regretted it as soon as he said it, but he was in no mood to apologize. Bruce had been a wreck after receiving that video, had blamed himself. He hadn't even told Nightwing until he showed up at Manor, broken and confused after a week from hell in Bludhaven, a string of memories he tried his best to forget. It had been a low blow, but he didn't care, at least not enough to deal with it then and there.

"Dick," Bruce tried again.

"No," Dick shook his head despite knowing Bruce couldn't see him, though he wasn't entirely sure that was true. It wouldn't have surprised him in the least if he found out he and Tim had video monitors on them too. Two Bats had already gotten themselves killed or permanently injured. Bruce had a right to be paranoid, Dick understood that. But that didn’t mean he had to like it. "No," he said. "I'm not going to run away from this like some little kid. I can handle this."

"Dick, I found Jason."

He froze and he blinked, shook his head, trying to clear it. Clearly he had misheard. Or worse, Dick had forced him into yet another one of his surly bad moods. Jason was dead He’d seen the video himself, even though Bruce had tried to hide it from him and Tim. He took a long, deep breath before speaking again. "Look, I miss him as much as you do, okay?" he asked. "But you can't delude yourself into thinking…"

"He isn't dead," Bruce cut him off. "He's the one we've been chasing this whole time." Dick shook his head again, not wanting to believe it. If Jason had been alive, he wouldn't be doing this. He would have come back home, back to where he was safe and loved… He wouldn't be trying to destroy Gotham, trying kill them, his family.   
But why would Bruce lie about something like that? “I need you back at the manor so you can keep an eye on him. Something tells me he wouldn't react well if I have Robin do it."

He gritted his teeth, knowing he had to go back, knowing he had to see if Jason really was alive for himself. And, as much as he hated to admit it, Bruce had a point. Nothing good would come out of Jason meeting Tim, at least not under such high-stress circumstances. "Alright, whatever," he sighed and scanned the area, wanting to make sure it still had some resemblance of peace and calm about it before he left. "But I swear to God, Bruce, this had better not be some attempt to keep me out of trouble. Nightwing out."

Dick turned and studied the skyscrapers around him, trying to figure out the best way to get back to the manor.  
He heard the gas release from the canister before he saw it start to snake up around him. "Well, fuck," he swore. He should have brought a gasmask. He knew better than to go out on a Scarecrow mission without a gasmask, but he had gotten too preoccupied with tracking Penguin’s men… He had just enough time to send out a distress signal before the hallucinations set in.


	2. Prettybird

**Bruce**

Jason was alive. Jason was alive, and he had been tortured for over a year, and he had spent years plotting his revenge against Bruce. God, he felt like such a failure. He had searched for weeks, had checked everywhere he could think, had even broken a few bones along the way…

He should have searched longer. Then maybe, just maybe he would have found Jason.

He’d been in the damn asylum for God’s sake…

Bruce swore when he saw Nightwing's blue tracker turn a bright red. "Master Wayne," Alfred's voice came through. Right on time, he thought as he abruptly changed the direction of the Batmobile, grateful for the time being that Jason was determined to keep his mouth shut. Dick’s _‘I’m not Jason,’_ comment had clearly affected the boy. If he could go back, Bruce would have led with the fact that Jason was in the car, if only to prevent Jason from becoming more damaged than he already was. I only stopped looking when I thought I saw him kill you. "Sorry to interrupt what I'm certain must be an… Emotional reunion, but Master Grayson has just sent off a distress signal."

"I know, Alfred," Bruce sighed and tried to focus on reaching the blinking dot. A bad feeling formed in the pit of his stomach when he realized the dot hadn't moved, not even slightly. Dick was never still, not even when injured. The fact that he wasn’t moving terrified Bruce. "I'm on my way." He saw Jason roll his eyes but ignored it. The kid could have as bad an attitude as he wanted; it wouldn't change anything.

He wasn’t going to lose another son.

"Very good, sir," Alfred replied. "Though I do suggest you hurry. His vitals are going off the charts."

_Not good_ , he thought, still keeping his eyes more focused on his GPS than on the actual road, not like watching the road would matter anyway. Gotham had been evacuated. Only Jason’s and Scarecrow's men were left. Despite his better judgment, he checked the monitor screen Alfred had sent him. _Blood pressure high. Heart rate astronomical. Low oxygen. Hyperventilating. Terrified of something, or someone._

_"Oh, come on now, Batsy,"_ Bruce tried to ignore the Joker hallucination. He needed to focus. He needed to find Dick. He needed to keep the madman at bay. The last thing Jason needed was to find out Bruce was sharing a mind with the man who had tortured him. _"You know what happened to the poor, little, prettybird. The same thing happened to you. I wonder if he'll off himself just like poor Barbara did?"_

Bruce wanted to shout, to tell the son of a bitch to leave him the hell alone. But he couldn't lose his cool in front of Jason. He couldn't let Jason know anything about the hallucinations, about the blood, about anything. Why couldn’t Scarecrow’s goons leave Dick alone long enough for Bruce to get Jason back home?

Not to mention he still needed to get Tim.

_"Now, now,"_ Joker stretched back, rested his hands behind his head, and looked Jason over. If he were real, Bruce wouldn’t have hesitated to punch him, to drag him away, keep him as far away from Jason as he could. _"I can only imagine how he must be feeling right now. You let him rot in Arkham for over a year, with me, and yet you go after your precious little Nightwing not two minutes after you learn he's in trouble."_

He kept talking, but Bruce focused on tuning him out, a task that was far easier said than done. Keep calm, Bruce, he thought as he drove. The last thing you need is to lose control.

"So why is he back in town anyway?" Jason asked, and for a moment Bruce was certain it had been part of the hallucination. "Last I heard he was running around in Bludhaven."

Bruce thought about ignoring him, knowing that it wasn't his story to tell, but he knew that ignoring Jason would just make matters worse than they already were. No, for the time being, it would be best to keep him happy, or at least as close to happy as he could be. He sincerely hoped it was a good sign that Jason seemed to be at least a little concerned for his brother. "Showed up at the manor a few weeks after…" he trailed off, and Jason raised an eyebrow. "After I got the video of you being shot." He heard Jason's breath catch, but was impressed that he managed to otherwise stay calm, or at least as calm he could be in his emotional wreck of a state. "His apartment building got blown up. Asked if he could stay with me for a few days until everything calmed down. A few days turned into a few weeks, and now here we are."

He watched as Jason turned away once more.

It was more than an explosion that had sent Dick back home. Bruce knew that, but he had never pressed the issue, figuring Dick would talk when he was ready. Though it had never happened. He had asked what had happened when he saw him at the doorstep, Dick looking more lost and confused than Bruce had ever seen him in his life. Dick had shrugged it off, saying it was nothing, and gone off to the Batcave to train.

He had been quiet. Eerily quiet, acting more like the enigmatic, brooding Batman than the carefree, light-hearted Nightwing.

Parental instincts had gotten the best of him, and he had gone to check on his son. He watched as   
Dick trained, noted his lack of balance, and had moved to correct him.

He would never forget how quickly, how violently Dick had jerked away from him. _"Don't touch me,"_ he had growled, actually growled, before storming out.

Weeks later, Dick was finally turning back into some resemblance of his old self, and Bruce was still trying to piece together what else had happened.

Once he had reached a reasonable distance to the distress signal, he pulled over and locked Jason in the car. The last thing he needed was the boy trying to escape while he was dealing with this, whatever this would end up being.

He grappled onto the rooftop, and he froze.

He had expected blood, maybe an unconscious body or two, hell, even a gunshot wound or a broken bone. Having a strong suspicion fear gas had been used, he had been expecting screaming, panicking.

What he didn't expect was to find Nightwing curled onto his side in a tight ball, whimpering quietly, begging for whatever was happening to stop.

* * *

**Dick**

He could feel his escrima sticks digging into his back, could feel Blockbuster's blood, still warm, on his face. And he knew he could never tell Bruce what had happened. He had broken the code. He had stood to the side and let a man, however sick and twisted of a man, be killed. He had failed her. He was supposed to train her, to make her good, and he had stood by and watched as she had shot him… Bruce would hate him for it…

No. He shook his head, trying to clear it. That had been weeks ago. That had been before he found out about Jason's disappearance and death, before this night, this _hell_ of a night. 

Blockbuster was gone. 

_She_ was gone. And he needed to focus on getting back to the manor, on getting back to Jason…

_“You let me die. You’re just as guilty as they are,”_ the former Robin’s voice echoed in his head.

“I didn’t know,” he whimpered. 

"No," he breathed and felt sick when he saw _her_ approaching him. She was supposed to be gone, supposed to still be in Bludhaven. He had left to avoid seeing her again. Despite years of training, of knowing how to protect himself, he let her push him back onto the roof and pin him down. "You're not real," he tried to tell himself, his rational mind knowing it was just an effect of the fear toxin, nothing more than a figment of his imagination.

But she felt real enough.

_"Everything's all right, baby,"_ she said, running a hand down his chest, unzipping his uniform, the events of that night playing out all over again.

"Not real," he kept repeating, shutting his eyes tightly, hoping that would make her go away, hoping that anything would just make her go away.

_"Quiet, mi amor callado,"_ she whispered into his ear, covering his mouth with her hand. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't scream.

He curled himself into a tight ball just as Jason's voice and face rejoined the party. _"You didn't look for me,"_ he said, his voice icy, full of nothing but pure, unadulterated hatred, and Dick felt even more sick. He hadn't known Jason was missing. Bruce hadn't told him until he’d shown up at the manor. " _Why was it me and not you?"_ He tried to cry out when the Jason hallucination wrapped his hands around his neck, but no sound would come. _"He would have beaten down every door in the world to find you. He would have killed him for taking you away, for killing you." ___

__"Stop," Dick muttered weakly. "I'm sorry," he hated his voice, how weak and pathetic he sounded. "I'm sorry," he whimpered. "Please just stop."_ _

___"Quiet, mi amor,"_ his blood ran cold when he heard her voice once more, when he felt her fingers run through his hair._ _

__"Nightwing?" he heard a familiar voice in the chaos, a voice that was supposed to be safe, maybe even comforting, but he was too far out of it to listen closely, to try to figure it out._ _

___"I'll take out the people you care about,"_ Blockbuster appeared and kicked him square in the ribs. Dick could see the bullet wound, still red and angry and he was supposed to be dead... he had stepped aside and watched her kill him… _"Hell, even the strangers you stand next to on the street."__ _

__"No," he muttered. "No, you're dead. We killed you. I watched you die. You aren't real."_ _

__A chill ran down his spine when the man laughed. _"You won't be able to shake someone's hand without marking them for death,"_ he smirked, kneeling beside him._ _

__"It's not real, Dick," the familiar voice came through again._ _

___"Do you like being alone, Dick?"_ _ _

__"It's not real," the voice came through once more, clearer this time. "Whatever you're seeing, none of it's real."_ _

__He shut his eyes even more tightly, and he hated himself, hated himself for being such a damn coward._ _

__"Don't make me do this," the voice groaned._ _

__"Not real," he tried to mutter to himself again._ _

___"Quiet mi amor callado…"_ _ _

__The not-Jason stood over him once more, his boot on Dick's chest. _"It should have been you."_ The second Robin shifted more weight onto his chest. God he couldn't breathe. He was going to die, he was so certain he was going to die._ _

__And everything went black._ _


	3. Hysteria

**Bruce**

Bruce grappled down from the rooftop, careful not to drop the unconscious Nightwing he held in his free arm. He hadn't punched the boy too hard, only enough to knock him out long enough to get him to the car. He hadn’t wanted to do it, but there was no way his eldest was going to be able to get off that rooftop alone. It would leave a bruise for a few days, maybe some nasty swelling... It was the right thing to do, even if it didn’t feel like it. Still, he needed to be quick. The last thing he needed was for his first son to regain consciousness in an even more panicked state.

He made it to the Batmobile in record time, and managed to gently lay the man down in the back seat. He hoped Dick would stay unconscious long enough for him to get them to the manor, but he doubted that would happen. He was too damn stubborn to stay down for long.

He got into the driver's seat, and was relieved to see that Jason was asleep, or at least pretending to be. God knew the boy needed it, especially after everything that had happened throughout the past several years. With both Dick and Jason quiet, even though he doubted they would stay that way for long, he could focus on getting them to safety and get back to Tim, to get him out of that cell and back to the manor where he belonged, where he should have stayed. 

It was his fault, entirely his fault. He should have just let them be kids, not child soldiers. He never should have allowed Dick to become Robin. Then he never would have gotten hurt. None of them would have ever gotten hurt…

God it had been so much easier when he only had to worry about one of them, or at least only worry about one of them at a time.

_'And won't it be just wonderful when little Jason sees his replacement?'_ Joker laughed and studied the sleeping boy. _'My, I did have so much fun showing him that little picture of the two of you. He really believed you were coming for him until he saw that, you know?'_ Bruce shook his head, trying to clear it and focused on the road ahead. ‘It’s an amazing thing, watching hope die.’ He knew it was going to be ugly when Jason finally met Tim face to face, but he could deal with that when the time came.

Even if he knew it would be sooner rather than later.

He flinched when he heard Jason whimper in his sleep, as the boy tried to curl up despite his restraints. God he hoped Dick would stay unconscious. He couldn't handle both Dick and Jason losing their minds at the same time. He could barely handle it separately.

"Alfred," he reached out through the comms as he started to approach the manor. "Change of plans. I need you to keep a close eye on Jason and Dick. We're headed to the manor now."

"Master Grayson is well, then?" Alfred asked, and Bruce had to smile slightly at the tone of relief he heard in the man's voice. Alfred was nothing, if not a worrier. For years, decades even, it had driven Bruce insane. But in that moment he had never been more grateful. Alfred was more than capable of taking care of the two former Robins until Bruce returned.

"I wouldn’t say well,” Bruce responded carefully, not wanting to go into specifics. That could wait until they were face to face, until he could get to work on a new antidote for Scarecrow's fear toxin. "I need you to make sure they don't kill each other. Or themselves."

He killed the transmission before Alfred could respond, not wanting to risk one of his passengers screaming and being overheard. Alfred had gone through enough stress in his life. He didn't need this added onto it.

Bruce sighed when he saw Jason becoming more and more distressed. "No, please!" he begged, his voice reminding the man of just how young his second Robin was, how young all his Robins were. To be so young and to have gone through so much… No, Bruce wouldn’t let his mind go there. Not again. At least not right then. "Please," he whimpered, still not waking. "Please, I'll tell you everything. Please just stop!"

Despite his years of training, Bruce was unable to keep himself from flinching when Jason screamed in his sleep. It had been something horrible, something inhuman, something that only one particular psychopath could have caused.

The Joker hallucination smirked and leaned back, looking Jason over once more. _'My, he was such a fun toy. Pity he got out. I wonder what more damage I could have done if he’d have stayed? I still think I could have turned him over to my side. Harley and I did always want a family like yours.'_

He was about to snap at the madman, not caring about the passengers in the car, but before he could open his mouth, he heard a scream coming from the backseat. _God dammit, Dick,_ he sighed in frustration. _You couldn’t wait ten minutes?”_

"Stop!" the newly conscious Nightwing screamed. Bruce could see him struggling against the restraints he’d put him in from the rearview mirror. “You have to stop them! Don't let them perform. Please.”

He prided himself in certainty. It was one of the things that made him the World’s Greatest Detective. But in that moment, he was certain of one thing and one thing only. It was going to be a long drive home.

* * *

**Jason**

_"Can I have him, Daddy? Oh please, please, please, please?" Joker taunted, waving the brand in his hand in front of Jason's face. His breath was caught in his throat. If Joker was planning what Jason thought he was planning… No. No, surely he couldn’t be that mad._

_"I'll take real good care of him." He felt his heart sink down to his stomach. He wanted to beg, to beg for anything other than what he knew was about to happen. He was going to be marked forever. He was never going to be able to forget those months._

_Had it been months?_

_He couldn’t remember. He didn’t know what day it was. He hadn’t slept in what seemed like weeks…“It’s been six months, Jason…” the memory, still fresh, rang in his head. Batman wasn’t coming. Bruce wasn’t coming. And worse, he’d already replaced Jason._

_How long had he waited? Did he go out and find a new Robin the very next day, or had he waited a week out of respect for the presumed dead?_

_Did he ever even care in the first place?_

_"Anything to make you happy, Princess," the clown continued, changing his voice to something deeper, more sinister. Jason could feel the heat of the metal, even when it was just hovering over his face._

_"Just make sure people know he's yours."_

_He heard the hot iron hiss against his skin, smelled it burn, before he felt it. And God he wished he hadn’t felt it. He’d never felt pain like that in his life, that intense, burning pain. His face was on fire. It was going to melt off._

_He was never getting out._

_He was never getting out and things were going to keep getting worse and worse and Joker was never going to give him the mercy of death…_

_He fell to the ground with a sickening thud, the barbed wire digging into his wrists, ripping old wounds back open and making them bleed all over again._

_"We don't want him to end up back here do we?"_

Jason woke up screaming, and it took him several long minutes to remember where he was. _You aren't back there,_ he told himself, or at least tried to. _You aren't back there. No, you're stuck in here. Stuck with him._

And that, he thought, was almost just as bad. 

It had hurt, realizing Batman didn't give a damn about him, realizing he wasn't going to be rescued. And now here he was, stuck in the damn Batmobile with the damn Batman and his precious little Nightwing. 

Bruce hadn't missed a beat going to save his favorite from whatever the hell had happened.

No, even after all that time, even after everything that had happened to him, he was still playing second fiddle to Dick motherfucking Grayson.

"You have to stop them!" Jason flinched when he heard Dick scream. He had never known the older man to lose control, not even once, and he would have been lying if he said it didn't unnerve him. Still, he couldn't help but smirk when he saw Batman flinch.

_He would have come for Dick,_ the voice in the back of his head told him, the voice he had tried to shut up so, so many times. _He would have found him the same day he disappeared. But not you. No, he let you rot there. He let_ him _have you._

He clenched his teeth and shut his eyes and tried to fake sleep, even if he knew it wouldn’t fool Bruce. Nothing ever had.

“He cut the ropes,” Jason heard Dick’s voice, more pathetic than he had ever heard anything before. Poor, little Dick Grayson whose parents had fallen to their deaths while he had been helpless to watch. Poor, little Dick Grayson who’d been adopted into the most fucked up family in the history of fucked up families.

What right did he have to be afraid of anything?

He shut his eyes when he heard Dick whimper pathetically, like a kicked puppy. He couldn’t bring himself to look at Bruce, Bruce who had always cared more about Dick than anything else on the planet. _'Can I have him, Daddy?'_ He heard Joker's maniacal laughter once more. _'Please, please, please, please?'_

He laughed when he heard Bruce’s breath catch, something only a handful of people would have noticed. And of course, _of course_ the man was worried. His first Robin, the favorite, the Golden Boy Wonder was losing his mind. 

Jason wasn’t losing his mind.

No, it had gone away years ago.

He wasn't quite sure when the laughing had started. He wasn't quite sure when it had turned hysterical. And he definitely was not sure when the hysterical laugh changed into violent, uncontrollable sobbing.


	4. Haze

**Bruce**

Between Dick's screaming and Jason's sobbing, Bruce couldn't help but think they were all lucky to have made it back to Wayne Manor in one piece. He sighed deeply and looked the two over. Dick had transitioned back into whimpering and begging. Jason had finally calmed down enough to at least appear somewhat sane. He stepped out of the vehicle, pulling Jason out first. Dick wouldn’t leave the car, and if he did, he wouldn’t get far before Bruce caught him.

He thought about cutting Jason loose, then thought better of it. Keep an eye on him, he thought as he half-dragged the man into the manor. _I'll take the sane violent man over the insane one any day._ And Jason was anything but sane.

"Ah, Master Wayne," Alfred smiled politely and held the door open. Bruce could have sworn he saw worry in the man's eyes. "I've set up an area in the living room for Master Grayson." Bruce watched as Alfred turned to Jason, who had not yet made eye-contact or said anything to him. "It's good to see you alive, Master Todd," he added before leading Bruce and Jason back.

After making sure Alfred and Jason would be at least somewhat safe together, he headed back to the Batmobile for his eldest. Dick flinched away when Bruce tried to help him out of the car, but was eventually coaxed out. _What the hell happened to you?_ He thought as he half-dragged his first Robin into the manor. Hopefully Alfred could get a new fear toxin antidote made, and quickly. He knew things would only get worse when the no doubt still pissed off Tim joined the party.

“I must admit sir, I’m more than a bit surprised that you brought him back here,” Alfred spoke.

Bruce glanced at Jason, then back at Alfred. “He needs help, Alfred. Not a prison cell.”

“With all due respect, sir,” Alfred continued. “I’m not sure we can provide the extent of help he needs.”

And Bruce knew he was right, knew it deep down in his gut. Jason needed professional help, and lots of it. The best place, logically, would have been the asylum. And there was no way in hell Bruce was sending Jason back to Arkham ever again. He wasn’t going to risk what little, if any, of his sanity that still remained.

Bruce dropped Dick onto the couch and watched as Jason slumped into a nearby chair, crossing his arms as he did so. He wanted to glare at Alfred, to yell at the older man for setting Jason free. But yelling wouldn’t get him anywhere, and it would do nothing but upset Jason and Dick further. "Shall I fetch them both a change of clothes?" Alfred asked.

Bruce shook his head in response. "I can handle it," he said and headed upstairs. He needed to get back in the field, needed to track down Scarecrow and end this madness, but he needed to clear his head, at least a little, before going back. Distraction would get him killed. It would get all of them killed.

He went into the room Dick had been staying in and opened the drawers, grabbing two pairs of sweatpants and two t-shirts. They wouldn’t fit right on Jason, but they would fit better than any of Bruce's things. And he certainly wasn’t about to put Jason in his replacement’s clothing.

He glanced at the open bathroom door, and against his better judgment, walked in. He opened the medicine cabinet, half-hoping and half-dreading he'd find what he suspected would be there. He grabbed one of the orange bottles and checked the label. _'Grayson, Richard. Diazepam 10 mg. Take one tablet three times a day for 30 days, then as needed for anxiety with or without food. Refills remaining: 0.'_

He opened the bottle, shook four tablets into his hand, and headed back to the living room, stopping in the kitchen to get two glasses of water. Jason was still slumped in the chair, arms crossed, glaring at Dick, who was still shaking and whimpering. "Here," Bruce said, handing Jason a change of clothes, one of the glasses of water, and two of the tablets.

"You're insane if you think I'm taking anything you give me," Jason said, his voice dull. Bruce wasn't sure if he preferred that to the anger he'd been radiating.

"Suit yourself, then," Bruce responded and approached Alfred, who was trying in vain to get a blood sample from Dick. "If he calms down enough to reason with, have him take these," he handed the remaining tablets and water to the butler. "If you have to knock him out with something, do it."

"Understood, sir," Alfred nodded and set the items to the side.

"And if you can do it, get him out of that uniform," Bruce added. "He's done for the night." He didn't wait for a reply before turning and leaving. Those two were in good hands, and he was confident Alfred wouldn't let a thing happen to either of them.

No, now he needed to focus on keeping Tim safe and on defeating Scarecrow before it was too late.

* * *

**Jason**

He’d pictured returning to the manor often when he’d been in Arkham, had even pictured it after he’d escaped. For months he had hoped that he would return there, return to safety. And now that he was stuck back within its walls, he wanted nothing more than to get the hell out.

God, though, the whimpering coming from his once-friend was driving him more insane than he already was. _How much of that shit did you inhale?_ he wondered, and couldn't help but flinch when he saw the other man jerk away from Alfred. Dick Grayson, the most touchy-feely person Jason had ever met in his life, actually flinched away.

"Don't touch me," Dick had muttered. "I'm poison."

Jason had to admit he was a little bit impressed. Had it been another person, the stress from the fear toxin surely would have killed them by that point, or at least driven the victim to the point of suicide. He was impressed that Alfred was still standing. Dick had been trying to push him away, however half-heartedly, for at least fifteen minutes.

Granted, Jason thought, he himself had lasted over a year being tortured by the Joker. _He would have rescued Dick the same day he disappeared._

"I'm afraid you leave me no other choice, Master Grayson," Jason smirked when he heard Alfred speak, and had to hold back the hysterical laughter that threatened to resurface when he saw the man shove a syringe into the side of Dick's neck. _He actually did it,_ he thought. _He actually drugged him._ "There," the butler nodded approvingly, and Jason listened as Dick's breathing turned from panicked and shallow to deep and even, watched as his body went limp.

He just needed Alfred to leave. Then he could take the stupid pretty-boy away, could make Bruce suffer for not coming to save him.

"I would make yourself comfortable, Master Todd," the butler said without turning to face him. _Really?_ he thought. _After all those lectures you gave me about looking at the person you're speaking to?_ "Given recent circumstances, I won't be leaving either of you alone tonight. Especially now that the big secret's been revealed."

He felt his blood run cold. _"Hey. I never asked. What's the big secret? Who is the big bad bat? His name. Tell me!"_

_The room was dark and cold, always cold. He could hear the rats scratching in the shadows, could hear them rustling in the walls. Hell, sometimes he even heard them in his dreams. He stared down at the floor. He had been so strong at first, so determined not to say anything, not to break._

_But he was already broken, and if he spoke, it would all be over. It would stop, the pain, the madness, the agony, all of it… All he had to do was say one, little name. And why shouldn’t he? Bruce had betrayed him. Bruce had replaced him. And Jason was done keeping his secrets for him. “Of course sir. It’s…”_

_Bang._

_Pain ripped through his chest. The force of the gunshot had knocked him over backwards, aggravating the wound anymore. Was this it? Was he finally going to die, after months of begging for it?_

_Black dots formed at his vision. His eyelids were heavy, and all he could think was that death wasn’t peaceful. If this was dying, dying fucking hurt.“Never could stand a tattle-tale.”_

Jason blinked and focused on evening out his breathing, trying to ground himself. He glanced at the tablets, wondering if they'd at least make his mind shut up for a few hours. No, he shook his head. He couldn't do that. He needed to stay alert, needed to wait for an opening to grab Dick and run. Even though he knew it would never work. Alfred would stop him before he got halfway across the living room.

And he’d be damned before he took anything Bruce gave him.

He glanced over at the man who he had once thought of as a brother, and now saw only as an opportunity for revenge. When had he become so twisted? He couldn’t remember.

Joker had done horrible, horrendous things to him. But he had never lied. Bruce didn’t care, not about Jason. And Batman didn’t give a shit about Robin. He never had. He never would.

A hand was on his shoulder, and for a moment, Jason thought it was him, returned to cause him even more suffering. But the hand on his shoulder was gentle, hell, maybe even paternal, not cold and controlling. “Do try and get some rest, Master Todd,” Alfred’s soothing voice said. “You’ve had a rough night.”

Jason wanted to argue, wanted to fight with the man. On the list of his rough nights, that one didn’t even crack the top ten. Maybe not even the top twenty. He started to open his mouth when he felt a tiny prick near his jugular vein. 

He glared at the butler, but only for a moment before the drugs kicked in and he fell off to sleep.


	5. Delirium

**Dick**

Everything had gone dark. His tongue felt fuzzy. His limbs were heavy. His thoughts were swimming. And _fuck_ his head hurt. What the hell had happened? He tried to remember, but everything was hazy.

He was up high, somewhere. Up high watching.

Up high watching and he had cut the ropes and he screamed for them not to perform and they were falling and there wasn't a net and their bodies were crumpled and broken and bloody and bruised and they weren't moving and he couldn't breathe and …

No.

Rooftop. He had been on a rooftop. And it was cold.

It was cold and it was raining and he was in shock and he couldn't move and there was blood on his uniform that was never going to come out no matter how many times he washed it and _it's all right baby._

No. Wrong rooftop. Wrong city.

He couldn't wait to get his hands on whoever the hell had knocked him out the first time. He owed them a damn good concussion, that was for sure.

He remembered being in the Batmobile. He remembered Alfred trying to calm him down, but Alfred kept disappearing, replaced by the madman who'd been hell-bent on destroying his life and had damn near succeeded.

Something sharp had stuck him in the neck, and he couldn't move, and he was tired, and it was cold and he was soaked to the bone and _do you like being alone, Dick?_

He tried to move, but his limbs were like lead. He wished he could clear his head. If he could just clear his head, then he could figure out where the hell he was and what the hell was going on. He had registered familiar voices. _If you have to knock him out with something, do it._ But it hadn't been threatening. He knew that voice. Knew that he was at least relatively safe when near it.

So why the hell would he want Dick to be knocked out?

Someone was shaking him, shaking his shoulder, and Dick wasn't sure if it was a friend or a foe, not that it would matter. He was in no state to fight. He was in no state to be anything other than even half-awake.

_Time to wake up_ , he thought he heard a voice, a familiar voice that he couldn’t quite place, say. Another voice had muttered something, but Dick couldn’t quite place it. God it seemed so far away, but familiar? Was he dead? He was pretty sure that voice belonged to a dead man. Was he dying and whoever the hell controlled their mad lives thought this was funny?

Because of course Jason was dead. Dick had seen the video, even if Bruce hadn't wanted him to. Even though he'd had to sneak into the Batcave while Bruce was on patrol. Even though he'd found the video by accident because Bruce had forgotten to destroy it. _Never could stand a tattletale_ , he heard a cackle and a bang and he knew it should have been him and _Jason is dead and it's all your fault_. Bruce told him not to think like that, to never think like that, but he couldn't help it.

_Master Todd, what in God's name are you doing?_ Alfred. Definitely Alfred. Was Alfred dead too? Man, that would suck. What would Bruce do without him? Without both of them?

He felt something sharp at his throat, familiar, but couldn't quite register it, not when he was still barely conscious and everything was incoherent at best.

_Getting the fuck out of here._

One of Dick's gloves had been ripped off, and he thought he felt something cold being pressed under his palm, something cold and familiar, but he didn’t know why, and _Access granted. Security clearance: high. Welcome, Nightwing_. And they were moving, at least he thought they were moving. His head was swimming so much it was hard to tell.

God, he hadn't had dreams this vivid since he was a kid. And he hadn't dreamed about Jason in weeks. Granted, he hadn't exactly been sleeping much the past several weeks.

He was drifting in and out of consciousness, not really sure what was going on around him, or where he was going. _Being taken_ , the quiet, rational part of his mind tried to argue with him. He thought he smelled blood and gunpowder, but that was insane because he had been on a rooftop and it had been raining, and he was cold, and her hands were all over him even though he wanted them gone, her hands were unzipping his suit even though he tried to push her away, even though he wanted her gone, even though he told her not to touch him. _I'm poison._

And he felt like he couldn’t breathe again, and he couldn't wake up and he couldn't move and he needed to know where the hell he was dammit because there was a madman on the loose and Bruce might as well have been marching off to his own death and…

No. They had found the madman. They had uncovered his identity. And he didn’t want to believe it. God, he didn’t want to believe it. Jason was dead. _Never could stand a tattletale_. Dead men didn’t come back to life and take over a city. He felt sick when he opened his eyes and saw Jason smirking at him, an angry, scarred "J" on his cheek. No. You're dead. You're dead. We saw you die.

He shut his eyes again, hoping it was all just one bad dream because _I miss him as much as you do, but he's gone, Bruce. He's dead and he isn't coming back._

_Wake the hell up. We need to get out of here._

He opened his eyes, slowly that time, deliberately, wanting to make sure he really was awake that time. When the hell had he gone to the Batcave? Jason had been knocked unconscious on the floor, a kitchen knife fallen to the floor beside him, Alfred standing behind him.

 

**Jason**

He woke with a start, something he regretted when the sudden rush of blood back to his head made him more dizzy than anything else. What had happened? Where was he? It wasn’t dark, he wasn’t back there. If he wasn’t back there, he could handle it, could get out…

“Ah, Master Todd,” Alfred spoke, and Jason had to blink several times to clear his vision, to make sure it wasn’t a side-effect of the drugs… He’d been drugged. God, he’d been drugged, and he couldn’t move and his wrists and arms were being torn open from the barbed wire chaining him to the wheelchair and… No, no, it was all wrong.

Joker was gone. He was gone. Dead, dead, dead.

But he wasn’t safe. He was never going to be safe, not while he was still around Bruce and his friends. He needed to get out, he needed to get out and stay the hell out. He glanced at Alfred, and he glanced at the door leading to the kitchen. He was fast, but the lingering effects from the drugs would slow him down.

But he had to take the chance. He was running, running faster than he thought he would be able to. Alfred had trailed after him, but Jason had been quicker, had managed to get ahold of a kitchen knife.

He glanced at his wrists. A few quick movements and it would be over. No one could hurt him again… But no, Batman wouldn’t care. He wouldn’t care that Jason was gone. But if Nightwing were gone…

“Master Todd, what in God’s name are you doing?” Alfred demanded, but Jason was already heading back. Alfred tried to grab him, but he broke free, running more on adrenaline than anything else. 

"Getting the fuck out of here," Jason responded. It was risky. The security systems in the manor were top notch, and Jason didn't doubt Bruce had upped everything after he'd disappeared. Wouldn't want to risk the bad publicity that would come with another Wayne child mysteriously disappearing. He elbowed the man in the stomach and roughly grabbed Dick. There was a time when he would have felt bad for hurting Alfred. But Alfred had drugged him just like _he_ had. 

“Master Todd…” Alfred tried to approach them, and Jason pressed the knife against Dick’s throat, hard enough to draw blood. “You don’t have to do this.”

“Make another move and I swear to God I’ll slit his fucking throat,” he growled and watched as the older man backed off.

He ripped Dick’s glove off and forced his palm onto the scanner to gain entrance to the Batcave.

He had barely made it down the stairs when he felt a dart hit him in the back of his neck and succumbed to unconsciousness once more.


	6. No More

**Jason**

_He’d fucked up. Oh God he’d fucked up. It was supposed to be a simple mission. Get in. Get the hostages out. Get Joker back to Arkham. Get out. Simple. They’d done it time and time again._

_And God, Jason had fucked up…_

_His head was pounding when he finally awoke. He tried to move, only to cry out when he felt his skin being torn open, the sting of the fresh wounds hurting more than he had expected them to. But why?_

_Shit._

_Shit. Shit. Shit._

_Where was he? He was bound to a wheelchair in the middle of a dark, dank room. What had happened? There had been an explosion. Bruce had tried to get him out of the way... Hadn’t he? He couldn’t remember._

_That laugh. No. God no. He knew that laugh…_

_“Come now, Robin,” his chin was being jerked upward, forced to look the man in the eye. “Don’t you worry. We’re going to have lots of fun here.” He couldn’t keep himself from crying out when a hard thud caught him in the chest, caught him completely off-guard, snapped at least one rib… His blood ran cold when he saw the crowbar in the Joker’s free hand. “Aren’t we?”_

He woke in a cold-sweat and frantically took in his surroundings. Bed. Lamp. Rug… Manor? It didn't look like the manor. What the hell had happened? He was supposed to get out. He had been in the Batcave. He had been so damn close to getting out…

Alfred.

The son of a bitch had drugged him. Again. They were keeping him there. They were keeping him there and he was never going to get out and they were just going to keep drugging him and forcing him to stay alive until one way or another he eventually died…

His heart was pounding in his chest. His head felt like it was going to explode. No. He wasn’t going to be held captive anywhere ever again. He needed to get out. He should have just killed Dick when he had the chance, slit his throat and let the man drown in his own blood, holding him as his body convulsed and eventually went limp.

Then maybe Alfred would have snapped and killed Jason so Jason didn’t have to do it himself.

Hell, maybe he would have killed Alfred too.

How long had he been out?

He needed to know so he could know if it was safe to leave the room, needed to know if Bruce and his new little bird were back. He tried to move, but his left arm wouldn’t go far. What the hell? He frowned and glanced down, a string of swear words escaping his lips. 

Alfred had zip-tied him to the fucking frame.

And he was screaming. And he didn’t know what he was screaming. And he didn’t care if anyone heard him screaming anymore because no one had for over a year when he’d been in that abandoned wing of Arkham.

He wasn’t going to be held captive.

Not again.

Never again.

“Shit,” he heard a voice, one he didn’t recognize, say from beside him. “Bruce?!” the voice shout. He turned his head slightly. It took him a moment to register the muscular build, the shaved head, the heavy bandaging around his abdomen. It took him a moment to remember where he remembered him from. “He’s awake.” Jason felt his blood boil when the man turned to face him. “So, I know this could have happened under better circumstances…” God, if he hadn’t been restrained… “I’m Tim.”

“I don’t fucking care who you are!” Jason shouted. And he didn’t. He already knew everything he needed to know about the man. He was the one that had replaced Jason. He was the reason Bruce had stopped looking for him. He was the reason Jason had been shot in the chest at close range, the reason he'd had to endure an emergency surgery with no anesthetic and no painkillers performed by a less-than-adequetly-trained doctor being held at gunpoint.

Bruce had entered the room and crossed over to Jason. “You need to calm down.”

“You don’t get to fucking tell me to calm down!” he spat. Bruce didn’t even flinch. He watched as Bruce and Tim shared a glance, watched as Tim nodded and left. He tried to break free again, but couldn’t. Why couldn’t someone in the damn family be bad at something for once?

“I know you’re upset right now,” Bruce began, and Jason rolled his eyes at the man’s attempt at being paternal. “But I need you to calm down.” He placed a hand on Jason’s shoulder, and Jason jerked away, as if he’d been burned. “I need to know where the antidotes for the new fear toxin are.” Jason started to open his mouth, to lie and say he didn’t know. “I know you know, Jason.” 

He could tell Bruce. He could tell him and everything would be fine. Maybe they’d even let him go… No. Bruce was never going to let him leave, not when he’d killed so many people. He needed control. He needed to be in control of something… And so he kept his mouth shut.

“Dammit, Jason,” Bruce sighed in frustration, and Jason smirked at him, daring him to lose his temper. He may not have been good at much, but he had always been good at pressing Bruce’s buttons. “Jason, his body can’t take being under this much stress much longer. He could die.”

And Jason started laughing again. His body couldn’t handle the stress much longer? Was that supposed to be a fucking joke? Because he’d been tortured, brutally tortured, for over a year and survived. Poor little Dick couldn’t handle a few scary things coming to life?

“Then I guess I’ll see him in hell.”

* * *

**Alfred**

If it had been left up to him, Master Bruce never would have become Batman in the first place. He had sworn an oath to the Waynes to protect their family, to protect their son. But Master Bruce was as stubborn as they came, and he had been unable to prevent it.

He had tried to put his foot down when Master Wayne had informed him that Master Grayson would be becoming Robin. A child had no business fighting crime. It was for closure, Bruce had insisted. Master Grayson needed to help put Tony Zucco to justice.

Master Todd had been different. He was no stranger to the terror of the streets of Gotham. He could hold his own in a fight, even as a teenager. And then Mater Todd had disappeared, and Alfred had grieved as much as Bruce had. Seeing that video, that dreadful video, had broken something deep within the man, even if he would never admit to it.

When Master Drake had come along, Alfred had tried to remind Master Bruce of what had happened with Master Todd. But Master Drake was a man with a career, not a boy with a tragic past. Alfred could not try and make decisions on his behalf.

And Master Drake had been shot in the abdomen two days prior and had nearly died.

And now Alfred was sat beside Master Grayson’s bed, keeping an eye on the heart-rate monitor that kept rising and rising. Fear toxin was never meant to be in a system that long… Alfred could only imagine the horrors the boy must have been seeing, must have been reliving. He could only hope the sedatives he kept giving the boy would do their job properly.

He had taken a blood sample shortly after he’d been forced to knock Master Todd out for the second time, but he was still unable to find a viable antidote for the latest strain. He gently took one of the boy’s hands in his own. No matter how old Master Grayson grew, Alfred would always see him as the mischievous boy who had run around the manor. No matter how twisted Jason had become, Alfred would always view him as the scared boy who had been so unsure when Bruce had brought him home.

“You can pull through this, Master Grayson,” he spoke softly and squeezed the unconscious man’s hands. “I have every faith in the world in you.”

Sighing, he sat back down in the chair beside the bed. Master Todd had been tortured for over a year. Master Drake had been shot in the abdomen and nearly died. Master Bruce’s identity had been revealed to the world, and they had been forced to coordinate an escape with three injured men. The manor was destroyed.

The madness needed to end, and Alfred was going to put his foot down.

No more Batman. No more Robin. No more endangering their lives and the lives of others.

No more.


	7. Gone

**Bruce**

He hadn’t expected Jason to wake while Tim was on guard duty. But, it seemed like the bad luck that had been following him for years wasn’t about to let up. The screaming hadn’t phased him. Maybe it should have. Was there ever a time when it had? He couldn’t remember.

Still, Bruce should have known better than to have Tim in the same room as Jason. There were too many risks, even if Alfred had flex-cuffed Jason to the bed to keep him from hurting others. Or himself. Because with every ticking second, that seemed a greater possibility.

“Master Bruce,” Alfred cornered him as he was exiting Jason’s room, trying to keep his temper in check. “He could die.” “Then I guess I’ll see him in hell.” Why did they all have to be so damn stubborn? Still, if Alfred had left Dick’s bedside, it must have meant something had happened, be it good or bad. “May I have a word?”

Bruce nodded and followed him into the study, a well-decorated room full of shelves upon shelves of books, most written in Arabic. Still, between the intricate rugs and the dark-colored walls, Bruce had to admit Talia had class. Had had class. “How is he?”

“No change,” Alfred answered. Bruce leaned against the mahogany desk and studied the man. They had been mostly avoiding one another after he had initiated Knightfall protocol. And why wouldn’t they? Alfred had adored the manor, had literally made it his life’s work. And Bruce had blown it up without a second’s thought.

No change. It had been that way since they’d arrived. Heart-rate alarmingly high. Blood pressure at stroke level… Still, no change was good change. Except with Jason. He’d hoped the two days of being knocked out would calm him down, at least a bit. Instead, it had done the opposite. “That’s a shame.”

“I was actually hoping to discuss you,” Alfred commented, in the tone he’d always used when Bruce was a child who had done something wrong. “Sir, with your identity being… compromised as it is, and with the world thinking you, we, are, well, deceased… It may be best to stay that way.”

Bruce frowned at that. Rationally, he knew he had to be careful. Batman had been revealed to the world. It was only a matter of time before the connection were made to Robin. Both of them. And Nightwing. Maybe it would be best if they all stayed dead, at least in the public eye… But he had put decades of his life behind Batman, behind being the savoir Gotham needed.

Could he really give that up?

But Batman had had a cost. It had cost him what he believed to be Jason’s life. Hell, the more he thought about it, the Jason Todd he knew was dead. He had been replaced by the man the Joker had created. Batman had cost Barbara her mobility. Batman had cost Tim a career, a good career. Batman was about to cost Dick his life or his sanity, maybe even both.

“This needs to end, Master Bruce,” Alfred said, his voice showing his age. Sometimes Bruce forgot just how old he was. How old he himself was getting. 

“You were right,” Bruce sighed and crossed to the window behind the desk, studying the ocean as it crashed against the rocks. “I never should have brought anyone else into this.”

He turned when he heard another set of footsteps from the doorway. “Bruce?” Tim popped his head in. God, he wished the kid would just stay down. That bullet hadn’t caused a lot of damage, but it had caused enough. He didn’t need to be moving around, didn’t need to be worried about anyone other than himself. 

His mind went through every possibility of what could have gone wrong. Jason was dead. Dick was dead. Jason had killed Dick. Dick killed Jason. Jason killed himself. Dick killed himself… 

His breath was caught in his throat as Tim stepped into the room. 

“He’s gone.”

* * *

**Jason**

He needed to get out. He needed to get out more than he ever needed to do anything in his life. He didn’t care if it meant physically getting out of the situation or if it meant getting out of life.

He just needed out.

He pulled at the flexcuffs, tried to slip his hand through, tried to get them to stretch, but nothing was working. He was trapped. He was trapped and he wasn’t getting out and his chest was tight and his stomach was in knots and he couldn’t get enough air no matter how many breaths he took.

He glanced around the room. Something had to be useful. Something in his reach had to be useful. The lamp. He could break it and use the glass. He twisted his body and reached as far as he could, but he still couldn’t get to it.

He could hear screaming a few doors away, not that he cared. No one had cared when he was left screaming. 

He glanced at his nails. Not sharp enough. 

He heard a thud from somewhere nearby.

_Whack._

_The blow had forced him into a clearer state of mind, forced him awake because damn it had hurt. And it had been solid. And he definitely hadn’t imagined it._

_And his stomach churned when he opened his eyes and saw the madman looking down at him, blood red lips curled into a smirk. “Batsy really should learn to take better care of his boys. Who are you?”_

_Jason coughed, blood sputtering out of his mouth, staining the cold, gray concrete a warm, crimson red. “Robin.”_

_Whack._

_He screamed. And he hated himself. Because he was supposed to be strong. He was supposed to be able to distance himself from the pain. Another crack. Another rib. Another new hissing sound when he breathed in. “Not the answer I want. Who are you?”_

_He coughed again, more blood staining his uniform. “Robin.” He saw stars. He was dizzy, and God it hurt. How long had they been at it? Days? Hours? Minutes?_

_Whack._

_Black spots clouded his vision. His head felt like it was going to explode. How had that not knocked him out? How had that not killed him? His head was ringing. His breathing was labored. He was going to die…_

_“Who are you?”_

_He could see what little light existed glimmering off the crowbar, could see his blood on his suit, forming a sickening mauve colored stain. He watched as he prepared to hit him again…_

_“Jason Todd.”_

A distressed noise was caught in his throat. But he wasn’t going to let it out. The last thing he needed was for Alfred to come up and drug him again. 

More thuds.

More crashing.

A long, steady beep.

When had the beeping started?

_He was lying on the ground, and he couldn’t move. Whatever Joker had injected into him made sure of that. He thought he was lucky. That he would let the bullet kill him. And really, he should have known better._

_The doctor was working quickly, frantically. Jason wanted to beg him to screw up, to just let him die… Maybe the doctor wanted to just let him die too. But then Joker would shoot him too…_

_He could see his insides becoming his outsides. He wondered how he hadn’t bled out._

_He couldn’t move, but he could feel everything._

_A gurgling sound escaped his throat, but he couldn’t manage words. The paralytic wouldn’t let him speak, wouldn’t let him scream…_

_“Now, now, Jason,” Joker tilted his chin up, forcing Jason to look him in the eye. “You should save your strength. There will be plenty of time for screaming later.”_

_It was never going to end._

He. Needed. Out.


	8. Fly

**Dick**

He was running. He didn’t even know why anymore. Something was different. Something was off. And he couldn’t place it. But it was bright, God it was so bright. 

And he had woken up.

He had woken up and his mother and father had been standing by his bed, necks hanging at angles they shouldn’t have been, bodies bruised and bloody, smiles forced and drawn out, like the corners of their mouths had been cut open.

“Fly with us,” they spoke, voices in unison, agonizingly familiar, but so twisted and warped, mixing with the voices of so many people who had tried to hurt him in the past. 

His mother who wasn’t his mother was approaching him, that damn smile never leaving her face. “Come, my sweet Robin,” she spoke, her voice low, menacing whereas it had once been calming. _It’s just me, Dick._ “Big boys don’t need nets. And you’re all grown up now.”

He glanced at his father who wasn’t his father for reassurance, but where the man had been, Penguin stood, leaned on a cane, smoking a cigar, gun pointed at his head. “A few more steps, and you get to see the contents of his head.” But Batman wasn't there to help him that time. And Oz held a grudge.

_Dick, you need to calm down._

Out. He needed out. He glanced at the needle in his arm. Drugged. He was being drugged. He needed it out. Then everything would start to make sense again. 

He had barely stood when his mother who wasn’t his mother grabbed him, tried to push him back down. “Come, my love. Die with us.” 

He shoved her to the side, not caring who she resembled. He wanted to scream. God, he wanted to scream. But he couldn’t allow himself that luxury. He was surrounded by enemies, and there was no way out, no way out.

_It’s me, ‘Wing._

His father’s face was twisting, morphing. His body was becoming larger, his tanned skin turning an ashy gray. “Do you like being alone, Dick?”

No. Not again. He wasn’t going to let him ruin his life ever again. He glanced at the needle that had been dripping the drugs into his veins. He didn’t kill Blockbuster last time, but he was sure as hell willing to then.

He grabbed the lead.

He shoved it into the man’s skull.

He ran over to the window, forced it open.

And the last Flying Grayson flew.

* * *

**Tim**

_It was impossible. Bruce couldn’t get caught, he wouldn’t let himself get caught. He was smarter than that, stronger than that. Tim wasn't worth anything. Bruce should have just left him._

_But Crane had wheeled him in on that damn table._

_He’d thought about the end often. You had to when you moonlighted as a vigilante._

_He just never thought it would happen quite like this, tied to a chair, next to Commissioner Gordon, the man who was supposed to be his father in law in a matter of weeks, as he watched his hero be unmasked before the world, everything crashing down in one agonizing swoop._

_His breath caught in his throat when he saw Crane aim the gun at Gordon. The man hadn’t done anything wrong. He didn’t deserve to die… And then he saw the glint in Crane’s eyes, that evil, damning glint that never meant anything good._

_Bang._

He woke with a start. No, that was bad. He woke. He was supposed to have been keeping an eye on Dick. He glanced at the form, still sound asleep, but conscious, on the makeshift hospital bed in the room, glanced at the monitors to make sure there had been no change.

God, Bruce would have killed him if he found out he’d fallen asleep on the job. There were still too many variables, too many things that could go wrong. Dick wasn't out of the woods. He was lost in the middle of it.

He frowned when he caught a twinge of movement. “Dick?” he asked cautiously, not wanting to startle the older man, not when he was still doused up with fear gas. He should have been able to find an antidote. He was a damned genius. Except when it counted, apparently.

Dick’s eyes shot open, and Tim jumped back. Never in his time of knowing Dick had Tim known that look in his eyes, a look so full of hate, of rage, of terror. He didn’t know which scared him more. “It’s okay, man,” he held his hands up and stood. He glanced at the table, knowing he needed to get more drugs in Dick’s system before he became more alert.

But the acrobat was quick, had always been quicker than Tim, probably always would be. And before Tim had crossed the room, he’d ripped the IV out of his arm. “Dick, you need to calm down.”

He watched as Dick glanced between the door, the window, and Tim himself, and then Tim stared at the first Robin’s feet. Eyes lied. Feet never did. He ran to the window, trying to block it with his body, but Dick managed to throw him aside like a stupid, little ragdoll.

He recovered and grabbed Dick from behind, a bad move, he figured when he felt the man’s muscles tense under his grip. A bad move, he knew, when Dick grabbed his wrists and shoved them away. He would have those damn bruises for months. “It’s me, ‘Wing,” he tried to reason. But he should have known better. There was no reasoning at that point. Just raw emotion, primal instinct.

He might not have been able to fight off Dick, but he could outlast him. The man was drugged and terrified. He couldn’t remain standing for too long. Tim just needed to play it smart.

But before he could react, Dick had moved back over to the bed, had grabbed the IV line that had been pumping drugs and fluids into him in his hand. “Put it down,” he moved closer, even though he knew distance was his friend. Touch had always calmed Dick, and he had hoped the close proximity would help.

He tried to step back when he saw the older man’s eyes flash again, that same terror showing that Tim didn’t think Dick was capable of feeling.

He had barely opened his mouth when the needle pierced his skin.

Tim didn’t know if hours or minutes had passed when he finally woke. What he did know was that he had a killer headache, and drugs and fear toxin be damned, he was going to kick Dick’s ass. 

He pulled the lead out of his forehead. God, he was lucky Dick had been disoriented and delirious. Otherwise, Tim didn’t doubt he’d be dead.

But…

He was gone. No, he couldn’t be gone. Dammit, he only had one job to do. Bruce had asked him to keep an eye on him, and he was gone and the window was open, and Oh God. 

A sinking feeling formed in the pit of his stomach. He ran over to the window, and didn’t know to be relieved or even more terrified at what he saw.

Relieved because there was no body, because that meant he had survived the fall.

And terrified because Tim had no idea where he would have gone, where he could have gone. What he could have done.

He ran into the library. If he’d been out for any period of time… No, he couldn’t think like that. Dick was terrified and drugged up. He wouldn’t have gotten far. He couldn’t have gotten far, at least not without getting hurt.

“Bruce? He’s gone.”


	9. Rage

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone. Updates will be much less frequent / regular from here on out. I am back in school, and so that has become my top priority. My apologies, and I hope you enjoy!

**Bruce**

“Explain,” Bruce crossed his arms, his posture rigid. He studied Tim closely; noting each tiny change in his demeanor, searching for something to tell him the boy must have been mistaken. Because if one of them was gone… No, he didn’t want to think about that. They were supposed to be safe in their current location. _Safe from the outside_ , he reminded himself. _Not from ourselves. Not from themselves_.

Tim took a shaky breath, but Bruce offered nothing to encourage him. There was no time for such things. “Dick got loose. He jumped out the window. I don’t know where he is.”

Bruce swore and dropped his arms. God, he wanted to hit the wall. But he needed to keep his composure. Losing control wasn’t going to solve anything, and it certainly wasn’t going to help locate his missing son. How could Tim have been so careless? He had one job…

No. This wasn’t Tim’s fault. Bruce knew Dick. He was impulsive and reckless on his best days. The drugs and the fear toxin couldn’t have made that any better. God, he should have kept a better eye on things. He should have been watching him himself. 

But he couldn’t exactly drop everything and run after his oldest either. Not when Jason was still upstairs and still in quite a bit of a state. Not that Bruce could blame him for that either. The Asylum should have been the first place he thought to look. And it hadn’t even crossed his mind. And because of that, Jason had been turned into a militaristic, homicidal madman. 

“He couldn’t have gotten far,” Bruce spoke finally, addressing Tim directly. “Start looking. If you can’t get anywhere in an hour, come find me.”

“Maybe you should…” Tim started to say, and Bruce held a hand up to stop him.

“You and I both know why it’s a bad idea for me to leave you and Alfred alone with Jason. I can keep him in line better than you can. Now go.”

Had it been under any other circumstances, Bruce would have expected an argument. But it seemed, at least for the moment, Tim understood how dire the situation could become, and how quickly. Bruce watched as he turned to leave, and listened for the click of the main door before turning to Alfred. “I need you to try and get through to Jason,” he said. “He isn’t listening to me, and I doubt he will. Maybe you can get through to him.”

“I shall do my best, Master Bruce,” Alfred nodded, and Bruce watched as he took his leave.

Bruce started up the newly-configured computer and activated the tracker he’d put on Tim’s shoes. He should have put one on Dick and Jason too, but he had thought they would be safe, or at least relatively safe, under his and Alfred’s care. 

He had thought Jason would be safe as Robin. No one would hurt a teenager. God, he’d been so wrong. And he’d fucked it up again. “Find him, Tim,” he muttered under his breath as he kept an eye on the path forming on the map on the monitor. 

Dick was a good man. He had a good heart. But Dick was trained in multiple martial arts and tripped out on fear gas. He could kill someone and not even realize it. And Bruce didn’t even want to begin to think of the aftermath of that happening. It would destroy Dick. It would destroy both of them.

He’d lived to see one son become a killer. He’d be damned before he saw it happen to another.

* * *

**Jason**

There were thirty-seven flowers on the comforter. He had counted them all fifteen times. It was all he could do, cuffed to the bedframe with nothing else to occupy his mind. He had done the same counting thing when he’d been held captive. There were 187 ceiling tiles in that room in Arkham. At least if Bruce had sent him to Blackgate like a sane person, he would have other people, not to mention rec time, at least until he was inevitable executed for his crimes.

He had to hand it to Bruce. He could always be creative when it came to punishment. And this was certainly a punishment, no matter how the older man he had once viewed as a father tried to swing it. Jason knew better. Bruce didn’t want to help him. He wanted to keep him on a leash, keep him close at hand so he could never hurt anyone again, so he could keep his precious family’s memory a happy one.

He tensed when the door clicked open. Part of him hoped it would be Tim. At least then he could make a scene, could lash out on him. He hoped it wouldn’t be Bruce. Anyone would be better than Bruce. 

Slowly, he turned to face the man at the door, and glared almost immediately. “Master Todd,” the warm voice greeted him, and Jason wanted to rip his arm as hard as he could to try and break free. He quickly glanced the man over, looking for anything in his hands. He would gladly die before he got more drugs pumped into him. “How are you feeling?”

“Go to hell,” Jason growled and pulled at the restraint again. Maybe, just maybe, if he kept pulling at it, it would break. He doubted it, but he still had to try. There was a time he would have felt bad for saying something like that to Alfred. But now? Now Alfred should be glad Jason was restrained. Because Jason had no doubt he would have killed the man in a heartbeat.

Alfred sighed and crossed the room, sitting next to him. At least he was smart enough to stay out of reach of Jason’s free arm. “You have no idea how much your disappearance tore him apart,” he said, and Jason rolled his eyes. “Tore all of us apart.” Liar. The word was easy. He’d said it hundreds, if not thousands of times before. But it was stuck in his throat, and he hated that more than he hated anything. “You have no idea how happy he is that you’re alive. How happy I am. And you have no idea how much it pains us to see you hurting so very much. I need to know how we can help you.”

Jason glared. He thought about asking to be set free, about asking to be sent anywhere but the damn house they were in. But the words wouldn't come. "He doesn't blame you, you know," Alfred continued after a moment of silence. "For anything that happened. You weren't and aren't in your right frame of mind." Jason tensed when Alfred looked him over. It had always unnerved him the way the older man seemed to see straight through everything. "I know you're still in there somewhere, buried beneath this mess that the Joker created."

“You really want to know how you can help me?” Jason questioned, voice deadly calm. 

“Desperately, Master Todd,” Alfred nodded. For a moment, Jason wondered when the butler had gotten so old. He liked to think his disappearance and reappearance had something to do with it. That Alfred had been so guilt-ridden after helping give up on looking and then realizing he’d never been dead… 

“Then you can tell him he can die and go to hell,” he spoke, not missing a beat. He took a short, controlled breath. “And he can take you with him.”


	10. Freebird

**Dick**

Nothing made sense. He didn’t know where he was. The streets were unfamiliar and he couldn’t understand most of what was being said around him, and he couldn’t tell if it was from the fear toxin and the drugs or for some other reason. Not that it would matter. Confusion was confusion.

His heart was pounding in his chest. He could hear his pulse thumping in his neck. Swish. Thump. Swish. Thump.

The lights were too bright and the noises were too loud and didn’t know where he was and there were too many people and they were too close to him and he couldn’t move and he couldn’t breathe and someone had tried to grab him and he had shouted at them not to touch him and they hadn’t backed away and he had made contact with something solid and he had heard something snap and the people were screaming and he was running but it seemed like he could never run fast enough.

He needed to get back. He needed to find Tim and God… What had he done? He’d drugged Tim. He’d shoved the damn IV into his damn head and he hadn’t even thought about their weight differences and he could have killed him… He couldn’t go back. He could never go back. First Jason. Then Blockbuster. Then Tim. Bruce would hate him. Bruce should hate him.

_You won’t be able to shake someone’s hand without marking them for death._

It hadn’t been a threat. It had been a premonition. _I’m poison._ Everything he touched went horribly wrong. Someone was shouting and running toward him and he ran as fast as he could because he had to get away because it was all his fault and he could never go back home not when all he did was get the people around him hurt. “Stay away from me!” he screamed at the monster standing before him, bright red hole in his forehead staring at him, mocking him. _You’re dead. We killed you._

“Are you all right?” a heavily accented female voice asked him and he wanted to scream and he wanted to throw up because _It’s all right, baby_. And he could still feel what was left of his suit and he could still smell the blood on it and he just wanted to get away from her and get away from them and get away from everything.

And the blood was rushing to his head and his chest was tight and he kept running even though he knew he didn’t have the energy too and even though he had nowhere to run to. Where could he go? No one would want a murderer in their city. And wasn’t that what he’d become?

What would his parents say?

_And now the Flying Graysons, performing, as always, without a net_. And the faces were all Tony Zucco’s and he wanted to scream and he felt the rage boiling in his veins and God he could have killed him then and there but he was young and he was powerless and he was alone.

_Do you like being alone, Dick?_

He didn’t. But he had to be. He was a danger to society. And he kept running and he didn’t stop until he was completely and utterly alone. He leaned against something solid and he tried to catch his breath but he couldn’t and God where was he? And the sounds were becoming muted and the colors were fading and swish. Thump. Swish. Thump. 

He sank to the ground and he could feel the brick wall tear into his back just like her nails had and the black spots were getting bigger and you should have kept looking. And he could see Barbara, and he could see the bullet going through her midsection and he should have been there and _it’s all your fault._

And his head was heavy and he was so damn tired and he was slipping away and he didn’t care.

* * *

**Tim**

It shouldn’t have been hard to find Dick. Even back in Gotham he had stuck out like a sore thumb. It wasn’t possible to be that pretty and go unnoticed. Tim had been jealous of that once, the way that Dick was easily recognizable and easily loved. He had always faded into the background, a wallflower, unseen.

Now though, he was grateful for the secrecy. The news of Bruce Wayne’s little secret had been released worldwide. And it hadn’t taken long for the masses to figure out that pretyboy Dick Grayson was prettyboy Nightwing, that Jason Todd’s mysterious death might not have been so mysterious, and that school-teacher and long-time admirer of Bruce Wayne Tim Drake was the new Robin. 

People weren’t nearly as stupid as Tim had once given them credit to be.

Still, the city was huge. And he barely knew the language, though he was picking up on enough to get what he needed. “Have you seen my friend?” “He’s this tall.” 

It was only when he picked up on “Madman” and “Lunatic,” that he started to get anywhere. 

Someone had found a man on the street. His neck had been snapped with precision. At least the death had been quick, relatively painless. That would make the impending guilt Tim knew Dick would feel at least a little bit better. “Where did he go?”

No one had been able to say for sure. Everything was still hectic by the time Tim had gotten there. But Tim knew Dick. He needed to get into his head. Think like him.

Up. Dick would go up. 

Tim glanced around, trying to find the highest point that he could. Eventually his eyes settled on a tall building, and he headed in that direction. He could see a hysterical woman when he got closer. Several people were trying to calm her, were asking what was going on.

She had been concerned for a man who seemed out of place. He had screamed at her and shoved her and she had fallen to the ground and hit her head. God, Dick, what have you gotten yourself into?

And he needed to find Dick and he needed to bring him to the new safehouse so he could calm down, or at least become calmer, and he needed Jason to swallow his damn pride and tell them where to find a damn antidote before the first Robin got himself and the rest of them killed.

And he thought he was getting close.

And he heard a bang.

And the room was cold and damp and smelled like death and he was tied to a chair and Crane couldn’t have gotten to Bruce because Bruce was infallible. He was Batman and bad things didn’t happen to Batman, even if horrific things happened to everyone around him. And he could feel the bullet piercing through his stomach and he could feel the warm, wet blood on his skin and he was just as helpless and useless as everyone had always said he was…

No. 

He needed to snap out of it. 

He needed to find Dick.

He wouldn’t fail Bruce.

Not again.

Never again.


	11. Children

**Jason**

The skin on his wrists was red and raw, and he tried to tell himself it didn’t bother him, even though he knew it was a lie. The marks and lines were different, but it was the same bright red from the barbed wire. He had pulled and tugged and struggled, and it had taken longer than he wanted it to, but he had broken free.

_It had been two months. He’d broken free from the barbed wire. It hadn’t been tied very tightly. He should have seen it coming a mile away. He wasn’t familiar with that wing of Arkham, but it couldn’t have been too different from the rest of the asylum._

_He walked through the empty halls, ignoring the roaches and trying not to hear the rats scratching in the walls. He was going to get out. He was going to get out and get home and everything was going to be okay again._

_He could see the light from the entrance. It was blinding and he didn’t care. Light meant freedom. Light meant that horrible nightmare could finally end._

_But something was wrong._

_That laugh. God, that laugh._

_“Now, Jason,” he wanted to scream when the Joker emerged from the shadows, that damned crowbar still in his hands. “Did you really think it would be that easy?”_

The window wouldn’t open wide enough to jump out of, and he silently cursed Bruce and Alfred for thinking of that, especially when Dick had escaped no problem. He didn’t doubt it was shatterproof as well.

The air was hot and humid. He could feel his hair sticking to his face, reminding him too much of being back in that abandoned wing. No. He needed to keep a clear head. He needed to get the hell out.

_It was cold and damp, and he knew he would never be warm again. They had to have been underground. His head was ringing from the latest blow. A hammer that time. Joker had gotten bored with the crowbar._

_He hadn’t slept in days. It was Christmastime, and the madman had insisted on playing the hits at full volume every hour of every day. ‘Hark hear the bells.’ Whack. ‘Sweet silver bells.’ More screams._

_How could he still scream? Surely his vocal chords were destroyed by then._

_"All seem to say throw cares away.’_

_“I wonder if Batsy’s enjoying the holidays with that new kid of his?”_

He needed a weapon. He could break the lamp, but the noise would alert the others and they would get there before he could get out. Bruce had left the Batsuit behind, but he could still take Jason hand-to-hand. He tried the door and swore when it wouldn’t budge.

His heart was pounding in his chest and his pulse was thumping in his neck. He opened the drawers and swore under his breath when they turned up empty. His back went rigid and he gritted his teeth when he heard the door click open. “Jason?” _Its been six months, Jason._

Great. He couldn’t even enjoy three minutes of relative freedom without Bruce coming to ruin it all. “What?” he growled and turned to face the man he had once regarded as a father.

“Brought you a change of clothes,” Bruce held up a pair of sweats and a solid white t-shirt before throwing them over. On a good day, Jason would have caught them with ease. But he was out of practice and he was exhausted and he just watched as they fell to the floor in front of him. “You got loose.”

“Are you going to fucking restrain me again?” Jason glared. He would sooner snap his own neck before being tied down again.

“Are you going to hurt yourself?”

“No,” he answered, even though he wasn’t quite sure if that was true or not.

“Then no,” Bruce sat on the side of the bed. Jason remained standing and crossed his arms, leaning against the dresser. The mirror above it could prove useful, he noted. He’d taken measures to avoid looking into it. The last thing he wanted was to see the permanent reminder of his time spent in Arkham. “I need to know where the antidote is.”

Of course that was the real reason Bruce had come to check in on him. He didn’t care. He never would. Dick would always take top priority. And Jason was done playing that stupid, little game. Dick could go and throw himself off the top of a building for all he cared. Maybe then Bruce would get the wake-up call he needed.

“I already told you he can go to hell,” Jason growled. His hands were shaking, and he didn’t care. “I lived through hell and he can too.”

“I thought you were gone,” Bruce said, and Jason smirked when he noticed the slight change. His tones were usually careful, calculated. And Jason was going to revel in hearing the stress behind it.

“You let him take me,” Jason spat. “You let him keep me there for over a year. He beat me and branded me and…”“I thought you could handle yourself while I looked.”

“I was a child!” Jason knocked the lamp over, watching it shatter into hundreds of tiny pieces. “I was a stupid kid who trusted you. You were supposed to take care of me. And you let _him_ take me from you. And you turned around and tried to save him…”

“I would have died too, Jason.”

“I would have rather died than helped that son of a bitch,” Jason shook his head. He reached for a large shard of broken glass without even thinking about it. But Bruce grabbed his wrist before he could touch them. “Let go of me,” he screamed, not caring if Alfred heard from downstairs, not caring if anyone on the outside could hear too. “Let go of me, you son of a bitch!”

He wanted to fight. God, he wanted a fight more than he wanted anything in his life. But Bruce restrained him by his arms and pulled him into a tight hug.

And he screamed and screamed until he couldn’t anymore.

 

 

 


	12. Glass

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for rape mention and suicidal ideation.

**Dick**

He was leaned precariously, or at least he thought he was. If he closed his eyes, he could still see the platform he’d jumped from so many times before. He was leaned over and they were reaching for him and the ropes were broken and his mother was crying and they had hit the ground with a sickening snap that he could still hear even when everything around him was quiet.

The sun was blaring down on him, but he could still feel the rain pouring down and his suit sticking to his body, and her arm was around his shoulders and her hand was around his throat and “Maybe I should have killed you too,” she traced a line along his neck with her forefinger, and for a moment he felt himself choke on the air that was supposed to be going to his lungs and not getting caught in his throat. “You’d be so pretty on my wall.”

It would be so easy to just fall backwards, arms spread-out. Maybe the fall would even kill him before the impact did… No. No. He needed to clear his head and figure out where the hell he was, but everything was fuzzy and his head was pounding and the world was spinning too fast and he was going to lose his balance and fall just like they had.

“It should have been you,” the Jason who wasn’t Jason approached him, head tilted at an unnatural angle, that damned ‘J,” bright red and angry on his face. “Why wasn’t it you? You said you wouldn’t let anything happen to me.”

And the not-Jason’s hands were on his shoulders and he wanted to fight it, but he couldn’t fight air even though it didn’t feel like air. It felt solid and real and God it was too real and he wanted to wake up back in his shitty apartment and wanted everything to be okay again and wanted Jason to be alive again and wanted her to be far, far away from him.

And she was behind him and she wouldn’t stop touching him and he told her to stop touching him but she wouldn’t listen and he could still hear the gunshot ringing in his head and God he just wanted it to **stop**.

“Your fault,” the not-Jason told him and Dick could see the gunshot wound reforming on his chest and could see his dead eyes staring right into his. “People keep dying. And they’ll keep dying. And it’s All. Your. Fault.”

Wrong. Wrong, he tried to tell himself, but he was becoming less sure of himself with every God-damned minute. Jason was dead. Jason was dead and he was alive and it should have been him but Jason wasn’t dead and Jason was never going to be okay again and God, it should have been him…

“But I know how to fix it,” the not-Jason smirked, teeth bright white against lips stained crimson red. He tightened his grip on Dick’s shoulders. And he pushed as hard as he could.

And he was falling and falling and falling.

And he let the darkness greet him like a friend.

* * *

**Tim**

He was screaming. Of course he was screaming. God, why did Dick and Jason both have to be such damn screamers? Whatever Dick was seeing, it couldn’t have been good, but Tim didn’t have time to worry about that because he needed to get Dick away from that damned building ledge before he lost his balance and fell. Or worse, jumped.

Too late.

Dick had stumbled, Tim wasn’t sure on what. And Dick had lost his balance, and Tim had barely been able to grab him by his forearms before Tim would have to worry about calling the proper authorities to come clean up the mess. “I need you to help me out here, Dick,” he tried to reason. He was strong, but he wasn’t sure he could lift 175 pounds of Nightwing up out of mid-air.

But Dick didn’t answer, and for a moment Tim wondered if he’d passed out from shock. Or worse, if the fear toxin had killed him after all. God dammit, why couldn’t Jason just tell them where the damned antidote was? Did he really need to make everyone else around him suffer too?

“Seriously, ‘Wing,” Tim groaned and put all of his strength into pulling the older man back up, his arms screaming with the strain. He’d lifted heavier things. But heavier things weren’t living things dangling from a rooftop that could fall to their deaths if he dropped them “B’s going to fucking kill me if I let you die on me.” Granted, Tim wouldn’t have nearly the hell to pay that Jason would. At least Tim hoped not. He’d only ever seen Bruce’s wrath unleashed on other people, never on himself. And he wasn’t eager to check that experience off his list.

It had only been by some miraculous act of whatever god might have been out there that he was able to get Dick back on that thrice-damned rooftop. He’d be feeling that in his back for the next week at the minimum.

He checked for a pulse and only let himself breathe when he found one, even if it was slow and thready and weak. Still, Dick’s body must have been grateful for the break from the alarmingly high heart rate he’d been experiencing.

Tim fumbled around for his phone and breathed a sigh of relief when he found it still safe and secure in his back pocket. He tapped on Bruce’s contact and waited for him to answer, groaning when it took several rings for the man to pick up. “Tim?” Bruce asked, and Tim absolutely hated the hint of hesitation he heard in the voice. Did B really not trust him to do his one job?

“Hey B,” Tim sighed and sat cross-legged on the rooftop, keeping a close eye on Dick to make sure he kept breathing. “Found him. But I need help getting him back.”

He heard the tell-tale ‘you could not have picked a worse time,’ sigh followed by the, “I’ll be there in ten.”

He set his phone down, peeled his jacket off, and draped it across Dick’s torso. The last thing they needed was for him to go into shock before they could get him home, and he wasn’t about to take any chances.

“Dick?” he asked and pushed the older man’s hair out of his face. “Don’t ever fucking scare me like that again.”


	13. Hate

**Jason**

He sat at the table, arms folded across his torso, and glared at the plate in front of him. At least it was better than being zip-tied to the fucking bed upstairs. Bruce sat across from him, watching him like a hawk. Or, well, more like a bat. “You have to eat.” Jason shook his head. He didn’t have to do anything. He never had to do anything again if he didn’t want to. Hell, he could probably take Bruce in a fight. Catch him off-guard. Snap his neck and run away. He’d taken care of himself before. He could do it again. “Jason…”

Jason shot him a glare and resisted the urge to laugh when he saw Bruce flinch. Wouldn’t that be a story for the grandkids one day? If he even lived long enough to have them. If anyone would ever even consider being with someone like him.  _ Hi, name’s Jason, you may know me as the Arkham Knight. Nah, the brand’s nothing. Don’t worry about it. Totally unstable.   _ No way in hell anyone was ever going to love him after all he’d been through. “Don’t ‘Jason’ me,” he spat. “And you don’t have to watch me every fucking second.”

“You’re a flight risk,” Bruce responded, voice cold and calculating. For a minute there, Jason had actually let himself believe that Bruce cared, that he was something other than a project that needed fixing. And hadn’t he always been a project? Never the son Bruce had always insisted he was.

"Ain't robins supposed to fly?" Jason questioned, ignoring the look that Alfred gave him from across the kitchen. Years spent learning to speak properly, politely. Well look at the perfect fucking gentleman.

"You don't have to make things this difficult," Bruce crossed his arms, and Jason felt his blood boil.

"I'm being difficult?" he shouted and stood up with enough force to knock the chair behind him over backwards. "I’m sorry, then. I'm sorry if I ruined your perfect fucking family reunion. I'm sorry I got caught by the Joker when I was fifteen. I’m more sorry I got caught by you before, is that what you want me to fucking say? Because I've felt sorry for that ever damned minute of every damned day, Bruce!" He watched Bruce recoil backwards as if he'd been slapped. "And God, I wish you would have just left me to rot in fucking Blackgate because  _ anything  _ is better than being stuck here with you!"

He pushed his plate forward, ignoring the noise of disapproval Alfred made and the "Master Todd" that escaped his lips. He was done being polite. He was done pretending to be okay. Bruce wanted to see the real him? Then let him. God, he wanted to kill him. He wanted to kill him more than he'd ever wanted anything in his life.

"I hope Dick dies," he said through gritted teeth. "I hope he dies scared and alone. And I hope you're too late to do a damned thing about it."

"You don't mean that," Bruce tried to argue.

"Don't fucking tell me what I mean!" Jason snapped. "You aren't in my head. You don't get to decide how I feel, so just shut your God-damned mouth before I shut it for you." He caught a glance of Alfred moving out of the corner of his eye, swearing under his breath. His temper would always get him, Bruce had told him as a kid, like he was one to talk.

And this time, when the needle pricked him in the side of the neck, he didn't even try to fight the heavy, dead feeling.

Maybe this time they'd actually kill him.

 

* * *

**Bruce**

It was always three steps forward and ten steps back when it came to Jason. He'd known that. He'd known that from the day he'd brought the kid that stole his tires home. Jason wouldn't be like Dick. It was unfair to expect him to be. God though, Bruce wished he could have been stuck with someone less... Difficult.

He didn't know why he expected anything different now, when Jason was still recoiling from the worst years of his life. He was too young to have gone through that. He was too young to have gone through all of that, and Bruce, the one person the kid was supposed to have depended on, hadn't been able to do a damned thing to save him.

He was in Arkham for God's sake.

He should have known.

And then, as he half-dragged Jason's unconscious form back upstairs, he couldn't help but wonder if things would have been so much easier had he just turned the kid into foster care like a responsible adult would do.  _ Master Bruce, I mean this with all respect,  _ Alfred had told him the day Bruce had brought Jason home.  _ Are you quite sure you know what you're getting into? _

The weeks after that damned video had been sent had been hell on him. No greater pain than losing a child, someone had told him once. And like it or not, Jason was his kid. Even if he wished it could have been so much easier some days.

_ How long did you wait to replace me? A month? A  _ **_week_ ** ?

"I didn't want to," he sighed and draped the comforter over Jason's shoulders, triple checking that the window in the room was secured by the system. Couldn't risk him running off again. They may never find him again if that happened.

He sat beside the bed and ran a hand through Jason's hair, trying to ignore the scar on the boy's cheek. "I'm so sorry, kid," he sighed and shut his eyes. He never should have let any of them get involved in his... lifestyle.

They kept getting hurt, and it was all his fault.

"Master Bruce?" he jumped when he heard Alfred knock on the side of the door frame. "Master Drake called. He found Master Grayson. He's alive."

And for the first time in what felt like weeks, Bruce let himself breathe.


End file.
